


Cass the CID Slayer

by Augustus



Series: Dollar Bills [6]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Bill
Genre: Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-10-25
Updated: 2000-10-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3191597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Bill, Buffy-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cass the CID Slayer

The small group of Sunnyhill do-gooders gathered around the glowing computer screen as Polly Page, their very own computer genius, wove magic on the keys of the keyboard in front of her. Her boyfriend, Smiffy, leant over her, hands resting on the back of her chair, eyes fixed firmly on the computer's screen. To one side stood Cass and Sam, the former looking remarkably alert for the early hour of the morning, while the latter yawned broadly, before sheepishly covering his mouth with a hand. On the other side, slightly in the shadows, stood the lean form of Bob Cryer. Towards the back of the room, as if seeking to remove herself as far as possible from the reputation rip-tide associated with the others in the room, sat Vicky Hagen, perched attractively on the edge of one of the desks.

Apart from the bluish light emanating from the computer screen, the CAD room was completely dark, a preventative measure, lest a curious passer-by wonder why the room was a hub of activity and light at a time when it was more likely to stand empty, save for the ever-present Cryer.

“Any luck, Polly?” Cryer squinted down at the screen, as the blonde sped over sites with a mouse click every few seconds.

She shook her head sadly, frowning at a fluorescent yellow site about Freudian theory on the Id. “No, nothing, Sarge.” Sighing, she turned to face him, her countenance showing her disappointment. “There doesn’t seem to be anything on the Internet at all.”

Frowns of concern passed around the other P.C.s gathered in the room.

“Nothing?” Sam asked unbelievingly. “There’s got to be _something_ out there!”

“Wait a minute.” Cryer’s voice was free of panic. “Did you say ‘Internet’?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, Polly,” he sighed, in a groovy uncle kind of way. “You were meant to be doing a PNC check!”

The laughter following his remark broke the building tension, and filled in time while Polly logged off the Internet.

“Sorry, Sarge,” she said sheepishly. “Force of habit.”

With a few clicks of the mouse on Polly’s behalf, she found herself back at the familiar green and black, eighties-style screen. 

As Polly restarted her keyboard investigations, Sam turned to Cass, who was still concentrating intently on the screen. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his face radiating concern. “You don’t _have_ to, you know.”

She smiled serenely. “Of course I do. I’m the Slayer.”

Polly spoke before he could argue the point. “Nope. Nothing here either.”

“Damn,” Cryer muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “So we’re all alone on this one…”

Cass looked over at the older man, her blue eyes bold. “We can handle it.”

“I’d much prefer it if there were some sort of precedent,” Cryer fussed, fidgeting with the cord of his radio. “With no records or sources, we’ll effectively be going in blind.”

“Cass can handle it,” Polly said loyally, turning to look at Cryer.

“I have no doubt about that,” he agreed. “I’d just be happier if we knew a little more about what it is that we’re up against.”

“Well, where else can we look?” Sam asked. “I don’t particularly like the idea of turning into one of _them_ , just because we hadn’t done our homework!”

“ _You_ don’t like the idea?” Smiffy turned and grinned at the other P.C. “I already turn into a villain once a month! I don’t feel like spending the rest of my days as…” He paused, shuddering, before finally managing to spit out the word. “…CID!”

Vicky stretched like a sleek wildcat. “You turn into a villain?” she asked coolly. “That’s strange. I’ve never noticed.”

Smiffy rolled his eyes at her before turning to Cryer. “ _Could_ we become CID if we slip up, Sarge?”

Cryer frowned. “That’s the problem with being without a precedent,” he mused. “We don’t know _what_ could happen.”

“I don’t like those odds,” Sam frowned.

“Well, what else can we do?” Cass took charge, moving so that she was facing the entire group. “There’s no option of just forgetting about this whole thing. If we don’t get rid of them, then you can be sure that they’ll come after us. At least this way we have the element of surprise.”

“I agree,” Cryer nodded. “If only we had something to base our planning on, though…”

“Can’t we try looking in a book, or something?”

The others all looked at Vicky in shock.

“A book?” Polly repeated.

“Yeah.” Vicky looked at them in disbelief. “Come on, you can’t be saying that you’ve never done any of your Slayer research in a library!”

Cryer coughed rather nervously. “Uh… I’m afraid that’s true, Victoria. We always meet here in the CAD room.”

“That’s funny,” Vicky mused. “I’ve always thought of you as a librariany-type person, Sarge.”

“Afraid not,” Cryer admitted. “Although, I must say that you’ve certainly hit upon something with this book idea of yours.”

Vicky beamed. “I had a good idea?” she asked proudly.

“Well, that must be a first,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“I heard that, Harker,” Vicky threw back quickly. “What I _didn’t_ hear was you coming up with a _better_ idea!”

Sam raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Truce.”

“That’s right, Sam.” Cryer began to pace the room. “We don’t have time for this squabbling.” Stepping in front of Cass, he fixed her with a worried gaze. “What do _you_ think about this book idea, Cass?”

“We don’t have any other options.” She smiled at Vicky, who was surprisingly good at coming up with – often bizarre – ideas, especially when the rest of the group had arrived at a dead end. Despite the annoyance and frustration often brought by her excessive vanity, she was worth having around for that very reason. “I say we hit the Sunnyhill library,” Cass concluded.

“Sunnyhill has a library?” Sam looked at Cass in shock.

Cryer nodded slowly, deep in thought. “You know, I _do_ remember being shown the library my first day here at Sunnyhill. As I remember, there were countless texts covering the walls. There’s sure to be something there related to the task at hand.”

“Texts?” Smiffy frowned. “Does that mean that we’re going to have to do paperwork?”

* * *

Meanwhile, upstairs in the CID General Office, a similar – and yet completely different – discussion was taking place.

“Bring your princess those horrid P.C.s,” Kerry simpered, clutching a porcelain doll to her chest. “Bring me the Slayer.”

“We can’t get ahead of ourselves, ducks,” her lover replied. John moved over to the window, staring intently down at the car park below. “If we make a move before it’s time to do so, we’ll end up dusted.”

“Dusted?” Kerry shuddered. “But you wouldn’t let her do that to me, would you John?”

“Of course not.” He moved to her side, gently stroking her hair, his eyes remaining on the window.

“But I _want_ her, John,” she went on, turning to look at him with overly wide eyes. “You must find a way.”

“Don’t worry, pet, I will.” He grinned down at her. “No one’s _ever_ taken on John the Bloody and won!”

She laughed lightly, delighted by his words. “You’re so much more _fun_ than Jim, John.”

John’s expression quickly darkened. “Jim? Jim is no more!” he spat. “All that’s left of him now is the shell they call P.C. Carver, stripped of all hatred, and evil, and _worth_! Why, he’s almost a _civilian_!” The last word shot from his lips coated with poison.

“He’s not _that_ bad, John,” Kerry protested. “Only the general public themselves are that bad.”

John laughed. “You’re right there, Princess.”

She pouted up at him, eyelashes fluttering. “I’m your princess?”

“You’re my princess.”

She threw her doll at the wall. “Then bring me Cass.”

“I will, luv.” He moved over to pick up the shattered pieces of porcelain. “I told you I will, and John the Bloody always keeps his word.”

“You do?” She smiled languidly. “And here I thought that you were _completely_ without fault…”

Crushing the porcelain fragments in his bare hands, he grinned a toothy smile. “Oh, I am, Princess,” he drawled. “Don’t you worry about that. Perfection, thy name is John, and all that crap…”

“Well, prove it to me, then.” Kerry’s voice was soft, but there was strength lying beneath the fragile words. “Bring me a present… and make sure it’s wearing uniform…”

* * *

Out in the hallway, the former Jim, now known as P.C. Carver, silently turned and strode away, making no sound at all that might alert the two less benign detectives inside the General Office.

_// Cass will have to be told about this,//_ he thought gloomily, making his way through the still, shadowy halls of Sunnyhill Police Station. _// Those two plotting together can never be a good thing for humanity…//_

John Boulton was awfully fond of calling Carver a traitor to his own kind, but Carver himself had never been particularly worried by such accusations. As _he_ saw it, the entire CID race were traitors to their uniformed counterparts - and to the police force in general. Carver was _glad_ that he had been 'cursed' with a transfer to uniform - the very thing so hated by the true detectives. What John and Kerry considered an affliction, Carver saw as a blessing. After all, without his uniform he would never have fallen in love with Cass - the Slayer.

The guilt that he was forced to bear about all of his past misdeeds was more than worth the moments of near-happiness that Carver had spent with the very woman who was supposed to be his most mortal enemy.

Smiling as much as was possible for one such as himself, Carver opened the door and quietly slipped into the CAD room, remaining unnoticed by the uniformed police gathered within.

"We've got problems," he said quietly.

Although the others jumped in fright, Cass turned to meet his eyes, used to his silent comings and goings by now. "What's wrong?" There was no trace of fear in her voice, just a calm acceptance of the peculiar path that her life had taken. After all, only a couple of years ago Cass had been just an ordinary P.C. One less adaptable than herself would have gone insane long ago, but Cass had taken the revelation that she was the CID Slayer in her stride.

Carver looked at her with pride as he filled the P.C.s and Cryer in on what he had heard upstairs.

"So much for the element of surprise," Sam muttered once Carver was finished.

"Don't be so pessimistic," Cas admonished him. "They don't know we're prepared for their attack. That still seems to be an element of surprise to me."

"Cass is right," Cryer nodded. "We'll be best off if we act quickly."

Carver nodded. "Any breakthroughs?"

"We found books!" Polly informed him excitedly, holding one up, just in case he hadn't caught her words.

Carver took it from her and briefly skimmed a couple of pages. "Any help?"

"Most helpful." Cryer rose from his seat on one of the CAD room desks and began to pace. "We found out something very useful in relation to their weaknesses. Apparently Kerry is unable to resist an opportunity to appear superior."

"And Boulton is unconsciously drawn to all forms of stationery," Cass finished for him.

"That makes sense," Carver nodded. "He always _has_ been fond of carrying a red texta around with him."

"So?" Vicky prompted, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not hearing any praise here, guys…"

"Yes, yes, well done, Vicky," Cryer muttered absent-mindedly.

The others muttered similar praises as Vicky smiled broadly and fluffed up her hair. Only Sam stayed silent.

"Sam?" Vicky prompted, an edge to her voice.

"Yes?" he replied, trying to look innocent, but eventually succumbing to the ice in her gaze. "Look, I just don't think it was that tremendous an idea!" he protested. "I'm sure that any _one_ of us could have thought of the library. You were just the first!"

Vicky's gaze was deadly. "If I'm so unnecessary," she huffed. "Then you won't mind if I keep my hair appointment _after all_!" Fixing a cold gaze on each friend in turn, she then turned and glided out of the room.

"Shall I go after her?" Sam offered sheepishly.

Cass shook her head. "No, she'll be safe this way." She turned to meet the eyes of each P.C. in turn before finishing with her eyes on Cryer. "You guys should all think about getting out of here too. It's me who they want. There's no point in you guys risking your lives or your uniforms."

Smiffy was the first to answer. "I don't particularly like those ideas, buy I'm sticking around anyway, " he said firmly. "Who knows where I'd be now if you weren't around to lock me in the supplies cupboard every full moon."

Polly nodded. "Smiffy's right. You've done so much for us, Cass. We're not about to leave you now."

The others nodded their agreement.

"I'm your sergeant," Cryer reminded her, smiling. "I have no choice."

"Neither do I," Jim agreed. "Although for entirely different reasons."

Cass smiled knowingly at him.

"Oh hell, I guess you can count me in too, then," Sam announced, earning a gentle punch in the ribs from Polly.

"Thanks, guys." Cass' smile became a businesslike frown within a second. "I guess that means it's time to prepare for war."

Sam gulped loudly. "Can't we just keep going with the 'We love Cass' appreciation society instead?"

"You guys get ready," Carver said, ignoring Sam entirely. "I'll make sure they're not closer to battle-readiness than I originally thought." 

After a brief (and sickening) shared glance with Cass, he silently slipped out of the room, his uniform jacket fluttering behind him.

"Good riddance," Sam muttered under his breath, earning him a glare from Cass.

"People can change, Sam," she chastised him. "Carver may have spent the last few years in CID, but he's not _like_ the rest of them! He drinks tea, not coffee! He even likes doughnuts!"

"Sorry, Cass," Sam muttered sheepishly. "I'll just shut up now."

"Good. We've got to get ready for the CID slaying of our lives."

* * *

Carver paused outside the door to the CID General Office, suddenly feeling rather unwell. _// Must have been something I ate…//_ The thought was quickly ripped from his mind when a sharp, stabbing pain flooded through every inch of his body.

"Oh, dear God, no," he whispered, clutching desperately to the wall in order to stop himself from falling. "Cass…"

As he finally slid onto the carpet, Carver felt his uniform tearing free from his body, taking with it every semblance of humanity that had ever resided within him.

"CAAAAAASSSS!!!" he shouted desperately - just before he lost consciousness.

* * *

A couple of minutes later, a much-changed figure entered the General CID Office, clad in a rather spiffy grey suit and hideous tie. The two detectives within the room looked in astonishment at the intruder.

"P.C. Carver?" John snarled finally. "What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?"

The interloper smiled passively. "P.C. Carver? Who's he?" There was a glint of teeth as his grin widened. "Jim's back," he drawled, eyes glinting. "And he's ready to kick some Slayer ass!"

"Jim!" Kerry squealed, throwing herself into her mentor's arms. "You got rid of that horrible, horrible uniform!"

John's response was more reserved. "How do we know that you're really Jim?" he asked. "This could just be another plot on behalf of Uniform."

Jim nodded. "You want me to convince you." It was a statement, not a question.

"There's no need, Jim dearest," Kerry murmured, winding her body around his own.

"No, I'm happy to prove myself," Jim argued. "After all, it'll be John's last chance to act at all superior."

"Don't do me any favours, uniform boy."

The insult was lost on Jim. "No favours required. I _want_ to do this." Smirking, he picked up one of the telephones that were scattered across the desks in the room. "Hello? Sunnyhill Police Station?" he asked into the receiver, altering his voice so that he sounded like a distraught elderly gentleman. "I want to report a… a murder!" he stuttered convincingly. "It's… it's my dear old Elsie!"

While Jim gave a false name and address to whichever of the uniformed do-gooders had been unfortunate enough to answer the phone, John and Kerry buried their heads in a couple of desk drawers so that their laughter wouldn't be heard at the other end of the phone line.

"Well?" Jim asked in his regular tone of voice, once the phone call had ended.

John pulled his head out of the drawer, tucking a discarded biro into his back pocket. "Welcome back, Jim," he grinned, throwing his arms around the older detective in a brief hug. "Nice to have you back on board."

As the two men stepped apart, Jim raised an eyebrow in Kerry's direction. "Did I hear you say earlier that you were in the mood for a uniform-clad present or two, Kerry?"

She nodded, eyes firmly and ardently fixed on his form. "Mmm-huh."

"Well, there's no time like the present." Jim turned to face John. "The Slayer and her little friends are preparing to strike. The sooner we make our move, the greater the chance of complete success. That little phone call should have improved our odds a smidgen too."

John snickered. "I can just see the little fools rushing to the dear old git's aid."

Kerry smiled lightly, eyes closed as if dreaming. "Oh, what a wonderful day it is! First my beloved Jim returns to us, and now we get to kill the Slayer!" She opened her eyes and fixed a persuasive gaze on John. "Can Princess come too?" she asked, pouting.

"Of course you can, pet," John said generously. "We'll be in no danger."

Jim grinned evilly, in complete agreement. "Those wretched uniform wearers will have absolutely no idea what hit them!"

* * *

It was approaching dawn when two small groups met, face to face, in the halls of Sunnyhill Nick. A dated coffee machine formed the backdrop to the face off, the harsh neon lighting overhead giving a vague, unreal appearance to the watchful countenances of the gathered enemies.

To the right stood Cass, clutching a wooden stake loosely in one hand, with Smiffy and Polly standing on each side of her, and slightly to her rear. In contrast, John and Kerry stood side by side on the left, both overly pale and grinning broadly.

"If only Cryer and Sam hadn't been called away to that horrible murder," Polly whispered quietly. "We could have done with the extra numbers."

"Don't worry," Cass replied, unafraid. "We still outnumber them, and Carver isn’t even here yet."

"That's where you're wrong, Cass…"

A grey-suited figure stepped out of the shadows and into the slight space between the two small groups. Cass' eyes widened as she realised that it was Carver who was looking remarkably like a disgruntled detective extraordinaire.

"What?" she whispered, confused, before her mind finally came up with an excuse for this turn of events. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Of course! You changed into civvies so that you wouldn't get your uniform dirty!" She smiled warmly at the older man. "I wish you'd mentioned this earlier! I wouldn't have minded doing so myself, and it would have saved me that momentary shock!"

"Yeah," Polly giggled slowly. "For a moment there I thought that you'd somehow changed back to CID."

Jim smiled. "You know, Polly, sometimes you can be a lot smarter than I give you credit for…"

As the full implications of that remark sunk in, Jim stepped back and in between the forms of John and Kerry. 

Kerry giggled in a high pitched clash of notes. "Cass, meet Jim," she said sweetly. "I think you'll find him a much more… _interesting_ … individual than that P.C. Carver of yours."

Cass' eyes widened as her mind tried to deal with this new turn of events and her eyes roamed over the CID show of solidarity, with the former P.C. Carver as its main drawcard. After a moment of hesitation, her stance firmed and her gaze regained its previous intensity. "So be it," she said quietly, her voice soft but strong.

Polly reached up a hand to reassuringly touch her shoulder, but Cass shook away the gesture, stepping forward to stand right in front of Jim. "Don't think I'll go easy on you," she muttered icily. "You're not _my_ Carver."

John laughed. "And thank the bloody gods for _that_!" he hooted, exchanging a grin with Kerry.

" _Your_ Carver was a _wimp_!" the latter added, looking at Cass with wide-eyed superiority.

Cass nodded slowly, continuing to hold Kerry's gaze. "You know," she said slowly. "You do seem to have a point there…"

Jim's smile grew as Smiffy and Polly exchanged a worried look.

"Actually," Cass went on. "Everything that you say makes a lot of sense…"

"Cass," Polly hissed through clenched teeth. "What are you doing?"

Cass shot her a friend a look that clearly told her to stay silent and to trust the Slayer's judgement. Then, turning back to Kerry, the warning frown became an adoring smile.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she said to the older woman, her eyes wide with repentance. "You just know so much more about these things than I do!"

"Kerry!" came John's warning cry, but it was too late. Glowing with the feeling of superiority that she was being awarded by Cass' words, Kerry looked down at the ground and shuffled her foot along a crack in the linoleum, her posture a picture of falsely shy humility. Her momentary lapse of attention was more than enough for Cass. With a quick, practiced movement, the Slayer embedded the wooden stake deep within the detective's chest.

"No!" John shouted, as Kerry's form turned into dust and tumbled to the ground. Eyes wide, he fell to his knees, trying to collect the dusted detective back into existence with his bare hands.

Finally, giving up, he stood, glaring loathingly at the uniformed trio. "That wasn't bloody funny," he whispered slowly and lethally.

Smiffy raised an eyebrow. "I found it vaguely amusing," he taunted the detective.

John's smile was pure evil. "You did, did you?" he asked slowly, eyes not moving from the younger man's face.

"Yup," Smiffy nodded.

Cass threw him a warning look. "Be careful," she murmured.

Smiffy raised a casual hand. "No worries," he drawled. "I can handle this one, no worries."

As he spoke, John stepped forward, easily grasping Smiffy's shoulders in a tight hold. With one swift motion, he slammed his forehead forward and then back again, executing the perfect Liverpool Kiss. Unconscious, Smiffy slumped onto the ground.

"Oh," Polly whispered sadly as the young man's uniform shimmered for a few seconds before morphing into the standard CID grey suit.

John smiled coolly at the two women remaining in front of him. "Anyone else find something funny?" he asked, shooting a victorious glance in Jim's direction.

Cass pulled Polly off to one side. "I think we're going to have to cut our losses and run this time," she admitted. "We've already lost Smiffy to CID. I don't want to lose you too. This way we can regroup, and wait until we have Sam and Cryer at our side before trying again."

Polly nodded. "And maybe Jim will turn back into Carver by then too," she added hopefully.

Cass smiled sadly. "Somehow I doubt it, Pol." She turned to regard the two grinning men. "Plan B it is then."

Nodding seriously, Polly moved back over to face the detectives. "Hey, John," she said, her voice excited. "Look! A texta!"

She fished a large, red texta from her utility belt and waved it back and forth in front of John's face before throwing it as hard as she could, sending it down to the other end of the corridor. Eyes wide with joy, John ran after it.

Grinning, she dusted off her hands and stepped back to Cass' side. "One down, one to go," she muttered.

Cass nodded. "I'll take care of Jim." She turned to face the detective with the same face as her former lover, giving him a bitter smile before looking down at her watch. "Oh, look at that, it's opening time," she said loudly, holding her breath as she waited for Jim's reaction.

A thundering rumble of footsteps leading into the distance indicated that her plan had been a success. Turning back to Polly, she gave her friend a small smile. 

"We’d better get out of here before he realises I was lying," Cass sighed. "Besides, we have a lot more preparing to do."

Polly nodded. "Besides, I want to find out how things went with that nice old man on the phone…"

The two girls wandered off in the direction of the CAD room, leaving a still unconscious Smiffy on the floor in front of the coffee machine.

A moment later, Vicky made her way attractively down the stairs and rolled her eyes at the sight of the new detective on the ground. "I don't know," she muttered, using the glass of the coffee machine as a mirror in order to fix her lipstick. "How does he ever expect to get _anywhere_ at Sunnyhill if he keeps falling asleep on the job?"

Shaking her head, she stepped over his prone body and stalked off down the hall.

**{fin}  
25th October 2000**


End file.
